


I Want to be in Slowtown (BRENDON URIE)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Panic! at the Disco, brendon urie - Fandom
Genre: Brendon Urie - Freeform, Other, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word count: 1373</p><p>Requested: Yes</p><p>Changed the request up a little bit to work around what I had written already. also slowtown is literally my fave</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to be in Slowtown (BRENDON URIE)

Brendon Urie was a… Hell of a man. He was a strong singer, a strong character.

And he slept with you. You.

You were his guitar tech on tour, and Dallon had taken to teasing the both of you about your close relationship and then one night… Brendon kissed you and then pushed his hips against yours and then you kissed him back and he groaned and then you stumbled into his hotel and…

Neither of you were drunk, surprisingly, and when you woke up in his arms, naked, you wished you were. It would make the whole job thing easier if your were drunk and slept with your boss instead of just having a sober one night stand with your boss.

You tried to play possum when Brendon began shifting, groaning as he approached being awake, but he shook your shoulder and called your name in a groggy, deep morning voice.

“Morning,” You whispered, moving away to lay down on your own pillow. Your nakedness was covered by the blanket but Brendon let the thin sheet lay over him like it was nothing to be naked in front of you. He stretched and grinned before looking dreamily at you.

“Morning, beautiful,” He reached over to rub a finger down your face, following your cheekbones. “How’d you sleep?” It was so weird being very domestic with him after sleeping with him.

“Good, what about you?” The conversation was slow and leisurely, and was cut off by your phone ringing. Then vibrating. Then ringing again. You sat up, startled and reached for the buzzing, vibrating phone on the night stand. When you looked at the screen your stomach dropped and you felt hot tears well in your eyes. “Oh, shit,” Brendon sat up and took the phone from you, his own eyes widening as he looked back up to you.

“Who saw us?” The pictures of you and Brendon holding hands, kissing, him pushing you into the hotel elevator, were everywhere. You breathing was irregular, panic in your veins as Brendon’s arms wound around your waist and you twisted to push your face into his neck.

“Oh, my God, my life is ruined,” You breathed. How were you going to go on with basically the whole world knowing you were Brendon Urie’s one night stand? You were already in the public eye because of your job but now the public knew that you had screwed your boss.

“Hey,” Brendon laid back, tossing your phone to the foot of the bed, “Your life isn’t ruined,” Tears rolled down your face as the fear rolled through your body, “I wasn’t that bad of a lay, was I?” He chuckled weakly, feeling the same fear you were but covering it with a joke.

“Brendon, please don’t laugh about this. This is my life, my career,” You were going to say more but the door to Brendon’s hotel room dinged as someone pushed their keycard through and then crashed into the room.

“Dude, guys!” They shouted. Brendon scrambled to cover you both as you guys looked at Dallon, who was standing in front of the bed with a breathless look on his face, “Have you seen Twitter?!” His face fell when he saw the horror and panic on your faces and it told Dallon that you two had, in fact, seen Twitter. “You two need to get dressed because you’ve got a meeting with a damage control agent in half an hour.”

You groaned but, as soon as Dallon left, you got up and dressed, trying to avoid Brendon’s eyes or the soft call of your name from his lips.

* * *

It wasn’t relief you were feeling while you sat in the cafe, hands wrapped around your warm drink. You didn’t know what it was but the panic and fear had subsided after the meeting with Brendon and you had gotten the hell out of dodge before he could say anything to you.

It didn’t help that the woman in charge of cleaning up the absolute nightmare the press was turning the ordeal into ordered you and Brendon to spend some time in the public eye together as a couple- even if you weren’t dating. But you weren’t ready for that yet so you snuck off to an out of the way cafe and ordered your favorite warm beverage to try and lift your spirits.

When Brendon opened the door you groaned and rested your head on your arms. Brendon slipping into the seat across from you, reaching out and grabbing one of your hands. He whispered your name and sighed, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Brendon, can you please just-”

“Hear me out,” He asked, avoiding your eyes, “It’s not that I don’t like you, because I do, trust me. I just didn’t want a relationship yet. It isn’t something I’m looking for while I’m on tour but we have to be seen together, okay? And I know I sound like a total fuckboy right now, but it’s true. I’m not going to lie to you. But we need to clean this up if we want to ever be a thing in the future.” You looked up and tried to pretend like you hadn’t been crying.

“You want a thing with me?”

“Of course,” Brendon leaned in closer to you, eyes shining, “Of course I do. You’re wonderful and cute and smart and funny, of course I do. Just not on tour. We see each other everyday and work together. It would create too much stress on the both of us, on the relationship. After the tour? We can be whatever you want us to be.” It brought a small smile to your face to know Brendon was willing to be what you wanted to be.

“I don’t want to be anything you don’t want to be, though,” You didn’t want to push Brendon too far, knowing that he could be flighty sometimes but the man just smiled and tugged on your hand.

“Let’s go on one of those dates they ordered us on,” He suggested, standing and stretching. You pushed air out of your nose in a snuffling sound before standing and following Brendon to his car. You got into the passenger side, buckling your seatbelt and looking over at Brendon. His face was glowing and he was grinning. You felt happiness bubble up inside of your stomach, elated to be sitting next to Brendon Urie and he was holding your hand, chatting idly to you as he drove you to a place he had apparently already set up, knowing you were going to say yes.

“Brend, where are we at?”  
  
“Brend?” He said, “Did you just call me Brend?” He put the car in park and looked over at you, “That’s a new one.” You shrugged and gestured to the dusty, grungy bar in front of the car. Brendon turned his attention to the flickering neon sign and he sighed happily.

“This is where I first found out we,” Brendon paused and choke down the fact that _Panic!_ was not the same as the memory he was recalling, “I was getting signed by Pete. It’s a little more run-down now, but I rented out the basement and got a record player and all of your favorite records and some nice, home-cooked chicken dish.” He opened his door and dashed around to open yours for you.

“Who made the chicken?” You asked, climbing from the vehicle.

“Wentz did,” Brendon said as he looped his arm around your shoulders, guiding you through the smoke of the bar, the pounding music, to a flimsy wooden door that had Brendon’s last name printed on it. He opened the door and followed you down the stairs where, when the hallway opened up into the room, you grinned.

Brendon had hung up little strings of fairy lights to take the harsh glow of the bar’s lighting off and replace it with a much softer, warmer glow. You grinned, taking a brief look back at Brendon who was smiling himself, before launching yourself toward the beanbags, record player and picnic basket in the corner.

“Come on, Urie!” You called from deep inside the bean bag, “Don’t be late to our first damn date!”


End file.
